


First steps

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Development, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to Depression, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 06:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: For Genyatta week 2018 - day 4: love on the battlefieldWhere Genji learns to trust again.





	First steps

**Author's Note:**

> This was not supposed to happen but i guess it did. No proof-read this time, sorry!

**First Steps**

**1.**

It is not that Genji stopped caring about his body altogether.

Some part of him is aware, deep down, that he has to stay alive, in order to track down his… _that person_. It is the only thing that keeps him going, certain days, like a wound that cannot scar, always raw and open, one you can learn how to ignore if you don’t move, but that if you shift, even a fraction of an inch, becomes again the sole focus of your attention.

Yet, it is still hard to equate himself with this –this mechanical body, extension of his self, stretching out in two arms, a torso, and two legs. It’s all metal and very few parts that are still him, and even those feel weird, like slabs of meat sewed together on a plastic doll.

It doesn’t feel his own.

Years with Blackwatch helped him learn how to ignore this feeling, and then he had enough doctors that were concerned about his wellbeing enough that he did not have to, not really.

Genji is not aware how long it’s been since he had a check-up. Since he checked his body for things that should have mattered.

It’s… difficult to care.

It is why, after months away from Blackwatch, he finds himself stumbling, leaving behind traces of his passage. He gets sloppy, eats less, his mind wanders for so long he finds it hard to focus on the here, and the now. Sometimes, he wastes hours of his life just staring at the ground, and when he focuses again, half a day has passed, and somehow he’s somewhere else, and he does not remember what happened in the span of time between the two points.

The only times he’s focused is when he trains, even if his dragon rarely comes, nowadays. Perhaps it’s also getting tired of him. Genji understands this feeling perfectly.

He’s also tired of himself.

He does not think of tomorrows, or even about later.

The bandits he finds on the street are harder to chase away than they should have been. His body feels sluggish, limbs heavier than normal, joints creaking, but Genji still wins, even if afterwards he’s left panting, and trembling with fatigue clinging to his frame like a vest.

The men are sent scrambling towards the mountains, and Genji continues on his way down, uncaring whether the bandits regroup later –it’s nothing he has to care about. Leave them to someone else. Authorities, or whatever.

On the way down, he passes by a stranger who is moving upwards, towards the mountains, steps measured and quiet. They exchange a few words, merely because the stranger –an omnic dressed like a monk, his frame weirdly exposed, enough that Genji counts in his mind all the places he could hit to make him crumble and die, if he chose to, and there’s a lot of those– expresses worry about Genji’s state.

Genji does not remember what he says, all he remember is that he should be angry at the monk for this, stupid weak omnic who knows no better, daring to fake care for a stranger on the road, but all he feels is weariness.

He leaves him behind, though a part of his mind lingers on the omnic and on his careful, steady pace, even as he stumbles down the path, and the shadows of the afternoon advance on him.

Genji remembers only too late that he did not warn the omnic about the bandits.

He should not care about that –let the stupid, worried monk get some ass kicking, all the better– but he does.

A part of him screams at him, enough that he stumbles back up the path, furious with himself, and angry with the omnic for making him go back.

As he expected to see, the bandits are cornering the omnic from all sides, their bigger frames and weaponry making it a one-sided battle that the monk has already lost, and Genji curls his lips up, even underneath his mask.

He overestimated himself, though. Even as he rushes to help the monk, stumbling in front of him, it becomes clear to all involved that he is in no shape to do much. He is tired, and weak, and the cold affects his body, makes his brain hazy.

Instead of protecting the monk, he just made it so the bandits will have two victims instead of one.

Genji does not expect the punch that comes his way, but he feels it rattle through his body even as he wheezes and drops on the ground, mind swaying wildly in a vertigo of pain and confusion.

His last thought as he sees something metallic flash in front of him, is that he was a failure till the end, as expected.

Waking up is a painful affair, his body aching, but he’s not cold, and not as much in pain as he should be –but enough to realise that he can’t be dead, if he feels.

In front of him, sitting on the ground, is the omnic monk.

“You are awake, I see.”

Genji hisses, even as something dings nearby –the sound not unlike the wind chimes from his childhood, or those he saw on his way through the mountains, dangling on peoples’ doorframes.

“What h–”

“You attempted to save me from those bandits,” the monks replies, softly, a tinge of amusement in his synthetic voice. Somehow, it annoys Genji. “Unfortunately, you were incapacitated, and got hurt.”

That is an understatement, and Genji snorts, and then looks around.

He expected to find himself either badly injured, abandoned on the side of the path, or dead.

He is neither. He is laying on a cot inside what appears to be a small hut. There is a fire he can catch with the corner of his eye, and a small blanket over him. The omnic is sitting there, face plate turned his way, waiting patiently.

“How are we…” his voice cracks, weak and dry, and much to his surprise, the omnic hands him a wooden cup.

Genji’s hand shakes, as he grasps it, but the omnic allows him to drink on his own, even if most of the water sloshes down his front, icy cold. Yet another blessing is that the omnic turns away, allowing Genji to unlatch the lower part of his mask in privacy.

As Genji drinks, the omnic speaks again.

“The bandits decided not to bother with us, and then I carried you to this small hut. It is night, now, and you were unconscious for a couple hours, so I remained at your side. You are badly dehydrated, and by my readings, close to starvation. What brought you to travel back up the mountain in such a state? I thought you were heading south towards a city.”

Genji wants to ask about that –the bandits surely did not just up and leave, but he is tired, and in the end, he does not care enough. He is still alive. That… that is enough.

He still addresses the monk’s question, regardless.

“I did not…” Genji hissed, small cuts on his lips hurting as he spoke, “… the bandits…”

“Ah.” The omnic’s voice shifted to something gentler. “You knew of them, and felt bad about not warning me. I am grateful.”

“What for? I was useless.” The disgust in Genji’s voice is loud enough to ring around them. The tingling chimes stop for a moment, almost as if his words silenced them. When Genji is about to miss their sound, the familiar noise that was almost soothing, they start again.

“You came back because you were worried about me, and tried to come to my aid. For someone so disinterested in your own wellbeing, you showed care towards a stranger. For this, I must thank you.”

Genji snorts. “I did not really care. I just…” and yet, he cannot explain why he did go back. Why it mattered.

“Maybe you believe so, but allow me to disagree with you, kind stranger.” Again, the monk’s tone sounds amused, but the warmth in it surprises Genji, who never cared much about omnics before. “I would ask you for your name, if you wish to share.”

Tight-lipped, Genji puts his mask back, and the monk turns around towards him again. He waits for a few seconds, but with no answer forthcoming, the monk sighs. “I understand, trusting a stranger is a difficult thing. Allow me to introduce myself first, then. My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, and I am part of the Shambali. I will not harm you, not as long as you do not raise a hand at me.”

Genji snorts. He does not see any strength in this omnic –Zenyatta– that would allow him to stop Genji’s hand, if he ever chose to bring harm to him.

Not that he plans to. It’s useless. “Genji,” he finally answers, curt and tired.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. Soon, he will be gone, and names will not matter anymore.

**2.**

The man is holding a knife towards a woman, who is frozen on the spot.

Genji grits his teeth, and in his mind, he considers. He wonders if he can be fast enough, if he sprints forwards to kick the man, but the way the sharp blade is inches from the woman’s neck makes him understand quickly that he would not be fast enough.

Everything had been fine until then.

The street was full of people, most of them intrigued by Zenyatta’s presence, by his soft tones as he started to talk about peace, about the Shambali, and Genji observed him talk from afar, attempting to look uninterested.

It is true the two are travelling together, and that Genji offered to walk with him until they reach Nepal, just to make sure Zenyatta is alright, a stupid thank you for helping him and carrying him while Genji was unconscious, but… Genji does not care to be more than a silent shadow. He is no companion. He is no friend. He is there to fulfil his self-imposed duty, and that is it. Zenyatta’s beliefs are his own and not Genji’s, even if the way the omnic speaks, warm and gentle, does have an effect on Genji that he cannot explain.

Yet, it doesn’t matter. In the end, Genji does not care and words are just that –empty words.

Genji is there just to make sure Zenyatta will not get mugged. That is all. Once Zenyatta is back to his home, safely, Genji will leave him behind, and consider his duty fulfilled.

The man attacking that young woman with a knife is unexpected, and Genji’s attention snaps away from Zenyatta and towards them; he hears him curse at her, only gets to understand a few words, like ‘break-up’ and ‘bitch’, muddled in a dialect of a language he’s only now starting to grasp, before he steps forwards, still too far to be of help.

Zenyatta moves faster.

Genji feels something in his chest constrict, painfully at that, as Zenyatta redirects the man’s anger away from the woman. It is obvious he has a severe dislike of omnics, his face a grimace full of hatred, and Zenyatta uses this against him, gentle words only making him more and more angry, until he drops the woman away from him, disdainful and furious, snatches Zenyatta’s wrist and twists him around, slamming him against a wall.

Around them, the crowd screams, parts in both fear and anger, but the knife that had been so close before to a throat is now close to vital circuits and wires on the back of Zenyatta’s neck, and Genji–

Genji is furious.

He is angry at Zenyatta for daring to put himself in such danger, for daring to think he could be useful, for thinking –maybe even hoping– that Genji would be there to help, even when Genji has given him absolutely no promise to do so… even if he walks with him, even if he is following him around, just to make sure.

But Zenyatta chose this for himself.

He could…

Genji moves without thinking.

His dragon –the spirit that Genji almost forgets is within his body– shimmers to the surface, vibrating under his skin, and Genji is fast, so fast, faster and faster, and his hand reaches for the man’s wrist and drags it away from Zenyatta’s body.

It feels like paper in his grip, so weak and tender and fragile that Genji’s strength could break it with almost no force applied.

He does not.

He pushes the man away and with his other hand holds the knife by the blade, and then snaps it with a pressure of his fingers, dropping both sides on the ground. “Stay away,” he orders, his voice steely.

The man quivers, whimpers in rage and falls to his knees, and Genji turns around, more worried about Zenyatta now, and in his haste, he forgets how easily shamed men can turn into beasts.

Genji barely feels the sharp edge of the knife’s blade dig into his heel, the pain almost muted –he is too used to pain, to fatigue, to really feel it.

He turns around and kicks the man in the face, sending him rolling unconscious a few feet away.

“Are you unhurt?” he asks Zenyatta, tone betraying the disgust and anger he feels. “That was incredibly stupid to do.”

“I agree,” Zenyatta murmurs. He turns around, and something in his voice, in the tilt of his head, makes Genji’s chest feel too full, too heavy. “ _You_ got hurt.”

“I did not mean–” Genji grits his teeth under his mask, and curses. “I meant _you_ , foolish monk!”

Around them, people whisper, point and step back, as worried about Genji’s appearance as they were of the man holding a knife. None dares to get close. Genji is blind to them, too focused on Zenyatta to care, only to be startled as Zenyatta falls to his knees in front of him, in the dust, and metallic hands move towards his leg.

He takes a step back, panic filling him, only for one of Zenyatta’s orbs, usually dormant around his neck, to detach and move towards him.

It glows golden, and Genji feels…

“You attempted to protect me yet again, Genji,” Zenyatta murmurs, his voice soft and gentle, as soothing as the warmth that seeps inside Genji’s chest from his orb. Familiar yet foreign. Genji’s anger fades into confusion, hands clenching into fists. “Despite it being my own action that brought me to it, you still rose to my defence, foregoing your own safety. I am sorry you are hurt, so allow me to help.”

The throb in his leg vanishes, and Genji can feel –swears it is happening– the wound close, leaving behind a mere smudge of blood on his calf.

“H… how?”

“I can tell you,” Zenyatta replies, easily. The orb does not leave his side, and Genji fights the urge to grab it, hold it close to his chest to absorb more of that warmth, as needy for it as a thirsty man would be for water. “But first, I must tend to someone else.”

And under Genji’s gaze, Zenyatta stands up again, and goes to the woman’s side, offering gentle words and a welcome gesture of care.

He stays behind, shadow again, but with light glowing inches away from him as the orb still burns golden. Like a promise.

**3.**

“… you want me to stay.”

Zenyatta’s pace is even, and he keeps walking even as Genji stumbles to follow him, shock filtering through his thoughts.

“Yes. I would like you to stay with us. With me. At the Shambali monastery.”

“I do not belong there. Not with…” Genji fumbles with his words, so many reasons come to his lips that he does not know which one to say first.

He is a murder, he wants to say. Bloodied with years of fighting. He has killed, harmed, followed orders and then none. He has a past that is nothing but darkness and pain, and his own body, still foreign to him, still not his own, is proof of it.

He does not belong with people like Zenyatta.

Zenyatta is… gentle, and soft, and warm. He smiles with his forehead array in ways Genji could never manage, even if he has lips and the omnic has none. He has words full of understanding and tolerance, speaks of untold kindness, and sees some even in Genji, who sees none in himself.

He is too good.

Genji wants to run, as far as he can, even before Zenyatta reaches his destination, and yet… yet he stays, every day.

Listens to Zenyatta as he speaks with others, listens as Zenyatta speaks to him. Often, so often, one of his orbs of Harmony lingers by Genji, even if he never asked, even if part of him rebels.

The Shambali are too much, and Genji does not wish to entertain the thought that with them, he could find something he craves but does not deserve, or believe can be his.

“Everyone belongs with the Shambali, if they so wish.”

“But I don’t–”

“You have not made an informed decision –you are only speaking out of pride, out of fear. You are ashamed, and you feel yourself below us.” Genji winces. “That is perhaps one of the many things you wrongly believe, and it is one I can refute easily. Others… will take longer. Which is why I am offering you a place to stay, if you so wish.”

“Listen, I am not made to stay. I seek something, and until I find it, there is no point.”

“Yet, once you find it, there will be no afterwards.” Zenyatta’s tone changes, sets into Genji’s soul like a stone. Almost hurts him with its weight. “It will be too late.”

“Nothing you can say will make me change my mind. You are too…” he hesitates, considers what he wants to say. “Peaceful. I do not belong.”

Zenyatta hums. “Is that so? Then perhaps, it is time we get properly introduced.”

Genji snorts at this, even when Zenyatta stops and moves away from the road and into the grassy hills on the side, beckoning him to follow.

He is even more incredulous when Zenyatta stops in the middle of the meadow, turns around, and raises both hands, shifting his pose into what resembles a–

“Spar with me, Genji.”

Genji does laugh, then, a curt sound that is more bark than laughter. When Zenyatta does not move, Genji feels mirth drain from him. “I do not wish to fight you. I have no resentment left for you.”

“Do you fear losing, that you are willing to avoid a fight I am offering you?”

“I would not lose. Not against you. Or anyone else. Not anymore.”

It rings true, yet false –he has lost, in the past. So many times. He lost against his brother, against OverWatch, then Blackwatch, then against Doomfist. Then, against the bandits.

His body is still slow, and hurt, though by trailing behind Zenyatta, Genji has found some sense of purpose again, and in turn, Zenyatta provides him with idle check-ups and makes sure he eats, throwing fruits at him that he finds on the road or from street vendors they pass by.

Genji still sleeps badly, still finds himself distasteful, and useless. He still has nightmares, he still feels rage, so easy, so quick.

He is still lethal, his own strength slipping from his fingers without his control.

He has no intention to fight this peaceful monk, even if it would take him a tenth –no, a fiftieth– of his power to subdue him without harming him. Yet he does not wish to tempt fate.

“You have such confidence in yourself, for someone so bent in allowing their body and soul to rot.” Genji feels a sparkle of annoyance at those words, but cannot refute them at the same time. He knows Zenyatta is simply needling him. “Yet here I am, offering it to you. Face me like you would that person you seek.”

“You are not my– you are not _him_.” Genji’s voice comes out in a hiss, angry and annoyed. “Do not speak of things you know nothing about.”

“Imagination can be a powerful tool.”

Genji’s face hardens underneath his visor. “I do not need even that much to know you will not win.”

He catches himself taking a step forwards, and hesitates –one split second where he thinks that he should not let this monk win, goad him into fighting, pointless, useless, for such stupid things. Zenyatta is sweet, and gentle, and knows how to prod at him, but he shouldn’t…

And then Genji stops, because… what is stopping him?

If he uses even that fraction of his strength to grab the monk, throw him against the grass, or maybe over his shoulder, show him how stupid he is, how powerless, how strong Genji can be, how fearsome, how frightening and scary and evil–

Then the monk will want him gone.

Then Genji can leave, consider his duty fulfilled.

Even if part of him does not want to part from Zenyatta’s side, liking the fiery soul within that frail, soft omnic monk body. Even if he finds himself wondering what it would be, to stay just one more night at his side, even if…

Genji moves.

He is fast, even if he does not touch his dragon, here. He is fast and sharp and determined. He darts forwards, one arm stretching out to grab Zenyatta’s wrist, bend him against the grass, make him powerless without hurting him, make him submit, make him realise–

Genji’s back slams against the grass, sending pain through his body as air leaves his lungs.

Above him, the sky is blue, and beautiful.

Zenyatta appears in the corner of his vision, and though his face plate is without emotion, he looks… smug.

“That did not seem threatening, to me. A tiger cub would prove to be more dangerous, I fear.”

Startled, confused and shaken, Genji stands up again. Among the confusion is the anger, rearing its head again, wishing to make Zenyatta regret whatever he did to send him sprawled on the ground.

“Ready again?” Zenyatta smiles, forehead array bright.

Genji charges again.

What follows is the fastest, most embarrassing defeat of his life.

In the end he is back on the grass, panting and shaking with exhaustion and fatigue, lungs burning in a way they haven’t done in so long, fingers twitching as they grip the grass blades at his sides like a lifeline.

Above him, Zenyatta chuckles, unruffled and at ease, as if he did not just kick Genji’s ass ten ways to Sunday and back. As if he did not just fight him back effortlessly.

“Who are you?” Genji hisses, disbelief and awe an equal mix in his voice, rough and raw after their battle.

He does feel like a tiny tiger cub, and it is… humiliating. Yet, he feels no anger. None at all.

“Tekhartha Zenyatta… or did I kick you hard enough to give you a minor amnesia?” laughter in his voice, but not mocking. Never mocking. “Do you believe you might wish to stay, now?”

Shaken, Genji watches as Zenyatta sits down at his side. “Why…? Why did you do this…? Why are you offering me, why do you want me to stay, why–” _‘why me?’_

Zenyatta hums. “Your soul is crying out in pain, Genji, and I can hear it. I can hear it scream since our first meeting, and since then, I’ve felt our souls connect. I care, and I worry, and I wish to help… but I cannot, unless you wish it as well. The path to healing must be willing.”

Genji is shaking, trembling, and he looks away, feeling naked under Zenyatta’s stare, even with his armour on, even with his mask.

His chest hurts –not from the hits, but from something within.

“You can think about it, Genji. We still have a long way to go, before we reach my home.”

And Genji is mercifully allowed this, though he knows no amount of time will alleviate the mayhem that Zenyatta brought to his life.

**4.**

The assassin that finds her way to the Shambali monastery is quiet, and skilled.

Genji does not know who sent her, or why –nor how much money they promised her.

He suspects, but has no real proof, that it is tied more to his OverWatch work than to his name –he has been gone for so many years now, thought dead by everyone, and OverWatch did their work perfectly. No one suspects him to be still alive.

Within OverWatch he’d always been just Genji, not a Shimada… and a cyborg is, by far, more easily found than a ghostly shadow wearing the name of the dead.

During his stay there, he has come to learn a lot of things about the Shambali –one is that Zenyatta, among them, is different. Most of them know, somehow, how to defend themselves. Most of them come from difficult backgrounds, most of them chose a life of segregation, or a life of pacifism, but if it comes down to it, they know how to protect those who cannot. And yet, he is one of two who can touch the Iris. One of two who can actively use it as a weapon.

The only one who chooses to do so.

Mondatta, their leader, their spiritual base, the root at the base of the tree that the Shambali represents, has such power, and chooses not to use it.

Zenyatta told Genji, once, that his brother gave up on it when he chose to become a public figure, because so much depends on him, and he does not wish others to use what he could do as weapon against him, or against his ideals, or against the rest of the Shambali.

Genji understands this, and understands that, in case of danger, Mondatta knows how to protect himself, even without the use of those powers, even without the Iris.

He knows that most of the Shambali also can, and that above them all, Zenyatta will always be there to protect them.

He knows.

Yet when Mondatta is the one that the assassin picks, judging correctly that he is important, that he is a leader, and that he is far more important to anyone else than Genji ever could be, Genji finds all this carefully constructed castle of beliefs shatter into uncertainty.

He has had only a month or two to get to know Mondatta, and the others. Not enough to form a real bond with them, and past Genji would have refuted even that knowledge, would have said no bond could ever form between him and another being.

He knows better now.

There is already a bond between himself and Zenyatta, and through his unwavering love, the care he has for everybody else, Genji is learning to care, if only a little, for Mondatta, and the other Shambali.

It is slow, it is painful, but it is happening.

The assassin pushes Mondatta into the railing in front of her, a stun-gun in one hand, placed directly over Mondatta’s core.

Under them, the Shambali are too far, too distant for any of them to be able to stop her, if she chooses to use the stunner on him, or throw him down below.

The distance is enough that he will die, either way.

Genji is crouched higher above ground, but cannot move, paralyzed with indecision and worry. Again, he is helpless when someone is threatened, and this time, it is his fault.

She is here for him, for his life, for his head –for revenge, or money, or… who knows what.

At his size, Zenyatta crouches on the small platform above grounds, and his hold on Genji’s wrist is steely.

“Do not move,” he murmurs, so low Genji barely hears him. “We will not concede anyone who comes threatening the Shambali for someone housed here. You belong here. You are safe here, and you are under our protection. Do not move.”

“It is Mondatta. You can’t–” Genji fumbles, aching and powerless between the pain in his chest at Zenyatta’s words, and the need to reveal himself.

It is a good exchange, for him. Mondatta is important. Not just for the world at large, or for the Shambali. He is important for Zenyatta.

Genji is nobody.

He cannot let the assassin turn her words true just to get him out, and he knows –perhaps better than Zenyatta does– that she does not really care about the importance of politics, or the Shambali, here.

She only wants to fulfil her own contract.

She wants Genji.

“You cannot choose me over him.”

“I am not doing that, Genji. But we are the Shambali. If we ever gave up our own ideals, what we believe into, then nothing would have meaning. It would be empty words. And I love–” his voice catches, synth crackling. “I love my brother, but nothing makes him more important than what we do. And you are important just as much.”

Genji stares as Zenyatta shakes, his chassis trembling, the hand holding his wrist clenching so hard he can feel pain travel down his arm.

Zenyatta is in pain. He is suffering, he is afraid for Mondatta, for his brother, yet he still does not move as the assassin taunts Genji, and the Shambali, the stun-gun pressed harder against Mondatta, who remains quiet, tall and proud and unruffled.

Genji’s soul is burning.

It is easy, then, with Zenyatta so unfocused, worry clouding his senses, to pinch the wires behind his neck.

Zenyatta drops down on the edge of the balcony with a startled, pained sound, the hand holding Genji’s wrist falling away.

“Gen–”

“I am so sorry, Master,” Genji murmurs, hesitant in the use of such word even now. “But I cannot let you suffer like this. And I might be here, but I am not tied down by your rules. I follow my own path, and I choose this.”

He strikes quickly, his dragon rushing to curl underneath his skin once again, rising its head and burning, flaring up inside him as he holds his sword above his head and plummets down into the assassin.

She had expected him to come from below, not from above, expected him to hide like a coward among the monks, to show himself on his knees for her to bask.

He comes like vengeance from the sky.

He cuts her hand out, though no blood comes gushing but crackling of electricity –prosthetics, then– and Mondatta stumbles to the side, shock travelling across his face plate with a startled burn of his forehead array. “Genji–”

Genji strikes again, exhilarated, wanting her to suffer for daring to hurt Zenyatta, for daring to hurt Mondatta, for daring to come here, in the one place that welcomed Genji where nowhere else sufficed, wanting her to feel the pain, and his anger, wanting–

He strikes her in the stomach, and is pleased when blood does gush out, then.

What he is not expecting is the stun-gun that presses itself against his side, where his synthetic flesh meets metal, nor the sudden burst of pain that travels through him, blinding him to everything except the sheer agony.

Darkness welcomes him quickly, with a touch of mercy.

When he comes to, he is in Zenyatta’s room, but Zenyatta is not there.

He finds Mondatta sitting at his side instead, visage reproachful without a true expression.

“I will… not say I am sorry,” he breathes, quietly.

He has survived worse. This is nothing.

“I did not expect you to,” Mondatta answers, but his voice is not cold.

“Where is my–”

“He is not here.” Mondatta sighs, quietly, and though he seems to resist at first, in the end he concedes to his own desire, and places one hand, very gently, on top of Genji’s visor, where his forehead is. “He feels shame.”

A pang of pain that is deeper than any physical ache he has. “Of m–”

“Of himself. He feels he has failed you as a master, Genji. For you acted out, and got hurt.”

“I chose my own path,” he replies, stubborn. Hurt. Will Zenyatta– “He has no blame. I could not let you both be hurt.”

“So you let yourself be hurt, Genji. We would have found a way to stop her without revealing you, or giving you up, or making any of us into a target. We were merely waiting for her to slip. Yet you rushed out, and you willingly put yourself in danger. You got hurt.”

“This is not Master’s fault, though, he–”

“He feels he has taught you nothing, if you still endanger your life without care.”

The words are like a slap in the face.

“Zenyatta cares for you, my dear sapling.” Mondatta’s tone softens, the hand on his forehead remains there, like a warm weight. “He cares so much his soul aches for you. If you ruin yourself further, if you choose to ignore your own safety, then he feels he has not done his job with you. Your life has a meaning, Genji. Not just for Zenyatta, or for me. Your life has meaning for itself.”

“It is–” choked up, Genji swallows. He is tired, and sleepy, but strangely awake all the same. “It is not an easy lesson.”

“Do you wish to learn it, though?”

Genji hesitates.

He thinks about himself, the limits of his own body, so easily discarded. He thinks about Zenyatta, about Mondatta and the Shambali. About how he’s already changed so much, in the past few months, how he can’t still find worth in himself, or find his body truly his own, and yet…

“I do. If anyone can teach it to me, it can only be Zenyatta. My Master.”

“Then you can learn by resting for tonight, young sapling. And thought you will not say you are sorry for your choices, you can always promise Zenyatta that you will try your best to change.”

“For him.”

“For yourself.”

“For him first,” Genji murmurs, closing his eyes. “For him who believes in me, and maybe one day, for myself.”

“Then you have taken the first step on the path of learning, Genji.”

Genji falls asleep again. Next time he wakes, Zenyatta is asleep at his side, forehead array dim in the dark.

**5.**

They are as one.

It comes from years of practice, years of training, sparring sessions and fighting side by side.

They move as if they are a single being, and the enemy _quakes_.

Genji goes first, as usual.

He slashes through whatever resistance he finds, then strikes true into the heart of the enemy, handfuls of shuriken well placed, following the dark, purple glow sent forwards by Zenyatta.

Zenyatta stays just a little behind him, finishes the targets Genji does not see, flanking him from the side, casting orb after orb at every enemy he finds in front of him.

The rest of OverWatch team falls in step with them, at first amazed, then awed, then proud.

They watch Genji fall into step with what appears to be a weak, frail omnic monk, following his orders sharply and then giving some back, and their fight is like a dance, where both know what the other will do, orchestrated and lethal.

They watch Genji, who once was all on his own, who never followed anyone, who barely acknowledged being part of a team, join their team planning strategies, offering his aid, his voice, and when there is a need, he makes voice for Zenyatta, soft spoken but just as sharp.

This Genji, who was once in pain, like a caged beast, moves free like a feral creature on the prowl, fangs bared to all except his allies.

On the battlefield, they are a perfect, deathly match.

“Zenyatta, duck!”

Zenyatta follows the order, drops to the ground, swipes one leg to the side and rolls away, and Genji is there waiting for him, one hand extended to grab his own, tugs him up again and out of the way of an incoming attack, pulls him up and Zenyatta spins in the air like he was made for it, light and fast, throws one dark energy orb at the assailant and then follows it with one of his projectiles, aim true, and the man goes down without a sound.

“Genji, to the left, straight ahead!”

And Genji goes, in three steps he’s already there, ten feet away, dashing with his sword glinting in the sun, catching the stray rays of sun before catching an opposing bullet rain, sending it back to the enemy before slashing through him.

Built on trust, built on years spent being at each other’s back, their fighting style admits no weaknesses when Genji and Zenyatta become part of OverWatch.

And–

“You will not touch him.”

–a gun pointed at Zenyatta’s temple, one hand wrapped around the cables of his back, and Genji stays his hand, steady and secure, and waits for the signal, and when that comes, Genji answers.

He does not rush ahead, does not offer himself to the unforgiving hand of the enemy, but strikes forth only when the time is right, trusting Zenyatta, trusting himself.

Finally, after years of searching for himself, Genji knows the limits of his own body, knows what is his, what this new body feels like, and it feels like his own.

And he does not have to choose. Not as long as Zenyatta is at his side.

 


End file.
